


chivalry is (not) dead

by lonald



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Excessive Drinking, Gender-Neutral Apprentice (The Arcana), Nonbinary Character, Other, Past Character Death, Spoilers for Julian's route, Unresolved Emotional Tension, emotional vulnerability who?, this is mostly crack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-28
Updated: 2019-06-28
Packaged: 2020-05-28 16:13:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19397713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lonald/pseuds/lonald
Summary: "I propose a challenge. Whoever drinks the most of this -” They hold up a stoup of Quenian spiced mulled ale, and at the sight of the tantalizingly decadent brew, the tavern’s patrons begin to eye their dispute with curiosity. “- gets to take him home tonight." It’s at this exact moment in time Julian realizes he’s had a dream like this before. He can’t remember exactly how it ended, but he hopes it's with someone on top of him later.Julian gets catcalled at a bar, and his apprentice has no tolerance for misogyny. Drunken shenanigans ensue, and release comes in more than one form.





	chivalry is (not) dead

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all, I started playing the Arcana a few months ago and ever since I've been obsessed with Julian. I just think he's the cutest and he deserves more attention. Also for some reason, the idea of drunken shenanigans wouldn't leave my brain. I hope you enjoy this!

Though it could just be the booze swelling his ego, Julian always thought of himself as the daring, unpredictable type. His knack for getting into the most bizarre situations past midnight was slightly inconvenient, but it made for great storytelling. Portia’s familiar sneering and acerbic wit keep him out of trouble most days, but the haziness of inebriation does him the favor of silencing the reminder of her cynical goading. He's always been loathsome to admit defeat to his sister’s good judgment considering how often she compares the size of his nose to his martyr complex, but if it’s just to himself, he’ll concede. 

Right now, he’s especially glad that he's alive and well enough to feel Xanthe’s hand on his thigh, their breath tickling his cheek as they gossip about the day’s misgivings. But their patience gradually wears thin at the animalistic hooting and hollering of the men to their left. One of them slaps the waitress's ass while another goes into sordid detail about what he’d like to do to her later. If he were sober he never would’ve left them alone, emitting such a murderous aura, but his pea-sized bladder wouldn't have it. 

But within a couple of minutes, Julian notices a sudden lack of the tavern's cacophony from the nearest alleyway. He nearly maims himself hustling to get back inside, 99 percent sure the silence has something to do with the drunk, moody magician he left alone with a gang of misogynistic pirates. 

Upon reentering the establishment, Julian never would've fathomed Xanthe'd be holding one of his scalpels to a man's throat, ready and willing to strike. By the look of shock on this man’s face, neither did he. In a few quick strides, he’s between the two, for the umpteenth time in his life playing the mediator in the most absurd situations. However, he’s got a hilarious repartee waiting in his arsenal for times like this. 

“Well I’d say I’ve never been more terrified of you, but I have seen you at the marketplace when it's crowded there’s freshly baked bread.” The wisecrack doesn’t even earn him a glance. “Perhaps we could solve whatever dispute has arisen between the two of you without bloodshed?” 

A chuckle bursts forth from the man in limbo, and instead of begging for his life, he salaciously drags his eyes over Julian’s frame in a lively assessment, and to his surprise he finds himself facing more than one invitation to someone’s bed this evening. As self-possessed as he may seem, the sheer brazenness of the stranger knocks the spirit out of him. Pirates would risk death for a good fuck, and in any other situation, it’d be hilarious. 

“He does not need _anything _you’re willing to give.” They spit, teeth gritted, eyes flaring with vehemence. “You can save your disease-ridden spunk for someone else.”__

____

____

The interloper scoffs, blinded by their own bravado."If it’s jealousy that’s got you wound up so tightly, we don’t mind paying you some attention too, sweetheart." 

Another thing that would be hilarious if it wasn’t so terrifying, the series of emotions that flit across Xanthe’s face — confusion, rage, confusion again, and finally a brilliant smile followed by a burst of laughter that builds and builds until they deftly retract the blade into their sleeve. Julian’s unaware of his own grin, surprised that anyone actually heeded his advice, but then it all comes together — the way they almost seem pleased to be provoked — neither of them was going home tonight without publicly humiliating this man. 

"I propose a challenge.” They hold up a stoup of Quenian spiced mulled ale, and at the sight of the tantalizingly decadent brew, the tavern’s patrons begin to eye their dispute with curiosity. “Whoever drinks the most of this, gets to take him home tonight." It’s at this exact moment in time Julian realizes he’s had a dream like this before. He can’t remember exactly how it ended, but he imagines it's with someone on top of him later.

… 

Julian should’ve tried to put a stop to the contest when the two shake on it, and maybe one more time when the drinking actually starts — especially since he's had a first-hand experience of what can happen to someone when they've fallen prey to that deceptively sweet ambrosia — but the way Xanthe looks at him as they down their eighth pint in one draft is sumptuous. (He always suspected they didn’t have much of a gag reflex, but how enthralling is it to know it serves a purpose aside from the obvious?) 

"Ready to give up?" Xanthe crows, turning towards the opposition with a boastful grin. He thought braggadocio looked good on him, but it's infinitely better on them. So much so that he's too busy crossing his legs to hide the arising issue in his pants to notice their foe topple, and the crowd goes into a frenzy.

"I'm gonna live forever!" They bellow, standing atop a rickety table that wobbles underneath the extra weight, reveling in the adoring wails of the spectators. Funnily enough, this still isn’t the most bizarre night he’s had on this side of town (which is only slightly concerning). The mass of people disperses quicker than it formed, and before Julian can start to dwell on the events of the summer of his twentieth year, he’s being ushered out of the bar and down the street. Though they’re stumbling a little more than walking, he’s amazed that they're still standing, still alive even. 

"You're incredible!” Julian cheers, still floored. “I don't think I've ever seen someone make it past six pints of that stuff.” He shakes his head, mouth agape. The serene, yet smug look resting on Xanthe's face is adorned with facetiousness. 

“I’d say a magician never reveals their secrets, but—” A mighty belch interrupts them. “I’ve been drinking that stuff since I was a kid.” A sheepish look crosses their face. “I’ve built up a pretty good tolerance to it, but I admit it can make me—” 

“An all-powerful binge drinking deity—” A hiccup rudely cuts him off. “Whose powers stem from the blessed, life-giving elixir known as alcohol?” 

“More like an instigative, belligerent overall nuisance to the general public.” Brow furrowed, they pinch the bridge of their nose ponderously before continuing. “I may have caused some minor property damage in the past.” 

“I knew you had it in you!" He throws a prideful arm around their shoulders, smacking a kiss against their forehead. "Spare no detail.”

They press their face into their palms, words muffled by mortification than anything. “I, possibly, incited a cause to riot... on several occasions. I’m technically banned from a large selection of dives in this city." They say, meandering their way through the confession, trying and failing to appear remorseful. 

“Gotor barely tolerates me, and it's only because I tip extremely well." They add on quickly before Julian can inquire further. "But I know my limits now! I swear it.” He can just barely recall the stricken look upon the bartender’s rugged disposition when they entered his establishment. The stout, brawny man was eventually worn down by the jangling of Xanthe’s pouch of gold coins, and the payment of their hefty tab was enough to placate him by the end of the night. 

“I see.” He says, hoping that sounded more natural out loud. “So this isn’t your first time toeing the line of alcohol poisoning in the name of due process.” There’s an irrational pang of jealousy in his chest. But the marginal insecurity that arises at the thought of them using their scarily robust liver to defend someone else is completely justifiable! Okay not exactly, but this whole evening has really dredged up some of his more unorthodox vulnerabilities. 

"Don’t worry, I would've never placed your chastity on the line if I wasn't sure I could drink that asshole under the table." They assert, looping their arms together while leaning a bit too much into his frame to be walking upright. “It’s not as if I leave my shop every evening looking for something to be combative about! I was only doing what any reasonable person would.”

“I’ve never heard truer words spoken.”

“I wasn’t going to actually slice into his jugular.” 

“Obviously not." Julian says placatingly. "You’re the most sensible, rational person I’ve ever met. You would never commit such an act without moral vindication.”

As they unlock the door and cross the threshold into the shop, Julian sends a quiet thank you to whatever force in the universe that compelled Asra to be elsewhere this evening. He didn’t think he could stand to be on the receiving end of their menacingly passive-aggressive stare — the hangover was going to be glorious all on its own. He only just barely manages to ease Xanthe's bedroom door shut before finding himself being kissed with the fervor of someone who’s never felt the heat of another human being before. Unable to do anything but feed into their enthusiasm, he reciprocates eagerly, cupping their cheeks as he feels a familiar tug at his hair. 

It’s classless, but he whines softly when they pull away. Trying to sound more indignant than he feels, they settle into a familiar bout of foreplay in which he fails extraordinarily at playing hard to get. 

"I'll have you know that inane, chivalrous acts are going out of style as of late." He declares, his voice wavering on the last syllable. "Next time you’ll have to try harder to get me in your bed." He relishes in the way Xanthe’s eyes narrow, lips pursed with begrudging curiosity.

"Harder than possibly ushering a man into the sweet embrace of alcohol-induced catatonia?" They retort cunningly. "I’d even go as far as to imply that you loved every second of it.” They force him onto the bed, perching themselves atop his lap. Light peaks through a slit in the curtains, illuminating the rich, dark coppery tone of their skin. Awestruck of how the deep indigo shade of their curls seems fluorescent in the moon’s effervescence, he leans up to kiss them again, eager to resume the deliberations of a few minutes prior. There’s something unhurried and reposed about the way their lips lure his. It’s a kiss more befitting to the day they spent together earlier, teasing and lazing about. It was a rare occurrence of them being able to shirk their responsibilities and simply be with one another. 

“I lied earlier." They state while planting kisses along his jaw, “I was incredibly close to full-on castrating that man.” Xanthe's mouth trails along his neck and Julian finds himself losing more focus on their words with every passing moment. 

“It was mostly because he said cunt one too many times and it was killing my buzz," Xanthe remarks casually. "But I also because I didn't appreciate the way he was looking at you, and the urge to bust his blue balls only grew when you went to piss.” The sudden revelation catches him off guard, and there’s something akin to butterflies in his stomach, but it’s probably just the liquor. 

“I know," He sounds strained even to his own ears. "You’re only the most sensible, rational person I know when I’m really drunk.” 

“Don’t you understand what this means?” They howl, grabbing him by the shoulders, swept up in drunken theatrics. “I’m a gluttonously possessive, impetuously violent fiend — no better than those goons.”

“But you are better than them. You’re _my_ gluttonously violent possessively impetuous fiend.”

“Close enough.” Xanthe shrugs, capturing his attention with their lips once more, nipping playfully. “You realize now that I know you're fine with my moral reprehensibility, it'll just be easier to beguile you into doing my wicked bidding.” They wiggle their eyebrows in a supposedly unscrupulous way, and it's frustratingly adorable. 

“Is that your way of saying your quality of life would suffer without my incorrigible wit and insight? Because, 'I love you', would've sufficed.” He considers the derisive snort in response, for the most part, an agreement. 

“I'd argue that your inclination toward public displays of melodrama leaves much to be desired.” The blatant slander leaves Julian sputtering, affronted. 

“Not more than two hours ago did you voluntarily consume a monstrous amount of alcohol just to prove a point.” He retorts, enticing them to play along. 

“Interesting anecdote coming from someone who seems genuinely opposed to living to a ripe old age of thirty!" Xanthe exclaims incredulously, pointing an accusatory finger at him. "There’s no display more dramatic than confessing to a crime you know you didn’t commit.” Julian pauses, reflecting for a moment before visibly admitting defeat.

“Fine, you win." He acquiesced. "Though, sometimes I wonder if the subsequent resurrection was a little much. _Less _is more after all.” He started to question if that had been a little too morbid when a resounding yes comes from a pinch at his side, causing a yelp to fly out of his mouth. Xanthe’s steely glare fixed upon him at the moment is entirely different from the usual once-over, and he fidgets under the weight of its intensity.__

____

____

“Loving reminder that jokes about your murder will always be too soon, and will definitely kill the mood.” The twisted expression on Xanthe’s face mirrors the sensation in his gut, and they move to lie down beside him, turning to face the wall pensively. Julian flounders at the sudden chasm that’s emerged between them, mere inches feeling like miles as he resists the urge to make another witty retort — but the more evolved part of him knows he should probably shut up. 

They’ve been successfully avoiding the topic conversation for months, and frankly, this is probably something they should discuss sober. But if the words resting on his tongue feel brittle and inconsequential now, it’d be ridiculous to assume they’d be any more meaningful in the daylight. The onset of silence stretches for an indeterminable amount of time, and for a moment he thinks Xanthe may have fallen asleep until he feels them take a shuddering breath. 

“When you—” There’s a sharp inhale of someone desperately trying to control their emotions. “When you died, something left me too. I just, drifted away as soon as it happened." Xanthe pauses for a moment, audibly swallowing past what is presumably a sizeable lump in their throat. 

"It didn't feel like a choice," They practically hiss, their voice exuding frustration. "It was more like I had already decided that if you couldn't come back then neither would I.” They’ve turned back towards him now, but he can’t decipher what’s worse — the view of their back turned to him, or the hollow state of their usual snarky disposition. 

“I couldn't stop thinking about what happened to you after _I _died.” For words uttered barely above a whisper, the metaphorical slap across the face they deliver is the kind that leaves you wondering what you did to deserve it. “I didn't want to know if life felt as meaningless for you as it did for me.” The quiet that follows is a void threatening to swallow what he can manage to say next. The truth of the matter is unsettling but it’s wound up so tightly around them that even the shallowest breaths ache.__

____

____

"I didn’t let the Hanged Man take my memory because of any desire to do good for the sake of doing good." Julian admits, penitence leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. "I just wanted to be able to save someone.” He grits his teeth to suppress the feeling of something imploding inside of him. 

“I couldn't save you, so using the rest of my existence saving others in memory of you felt like the appropriately righteous thing to do to make up for it." A derisive chuckle somehow makes its way past his lips. "But I saw you everywhere, and the guilt just _corroded _my insides." He says haltingly, digging his nails into his palm. “I just couldn’t live with the reminder of you anymore.”__

____

____

“Promise me, when one of us dies that whoever's left won’t give up.” Julian doesn’t believe he can look them in the eye, but Xanthe’s hand seizes his chin, holding his face firmly in their line of sight. 

“I don’t ever want to live without you again, but I have to know that I can." They declare, and he wills himself to face them, taken aback by a fierce devotion in their eyes. "I need to know we’ll do whatever it takes to live anyways, no matter how pointless it may seem.” 

“Is that your way of giving me permission to have multiple orgies if you die?” Unsurprisingly it’s all Julian can muster up — he’s still working on that whole _time and place _concept. Xanthe doesn’t appear to mind too much, knowing deep down their point was made. They don’t seem too keen on finishing off the night with such an emotionally taxing discussion, rolling their eyes before kissing him with a renewed enthusiasm.__

____

____

“Mmm, tell me more about how much dick up the ass it would take for you to get over me.” They arrange themselves back into a more convenient position, Xanthe settled atop his lap moving in all the right ways, but before he can get his hands in a more opportune place, they grab him by the wrists. 

“Just to be clear, the only person you are not allowed to fuck to get over me is that one specific jackass from earlier." Xanthe adds, and Julian can't tell exactly whether they're kidding or not. "I have a reputation to uphold, even in death.” 

“I would never sully your good name like that.” He coos, placing a kiss upon their now bare chest. “Plus I think he might be dead.” 

“I will always drink my entire body-weight and more for the right to get into your pants.” They profess, an earnest smile illuminates their visage, and for a moment Julian ponders on how the sight ever could have tortured him.

“I can’t believe I’ve allowed such a gluttonously possessive, violently impetuous brute into my bed.” 

A scowl assails him. “This is my house!” It's endearing. 

“Your point is?” 

“...Just take your pants off already.” 

…

**Author's Note:**

> hope y'all enjoyed :^) lemme know what you think in the comments!


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